“Miss Lally,” she said hesitatingly, “it is not suitable I should dine with you. I am only your maid, you know. Mrs. Wroat had me always dine with her, because otherwise she must have dined alone, and she liked company. Mr. Lang is the younger son of a Scottish laird, and he might be affronted to dine with me.” “But I insist,” said Lally. “No, no, Miss Lally. When you are alone, I’ll dine with you for company,” said Mrs. Peters stoutly, “but I assure you I would rather eat by myself when there’s company. I won’t have any one say that my young mistress doesn’t know what is suitable to her station. If I could, I’d set you up on a pedestal above everybody else; indeed I would, Miss Lally. I would like to be housekeeper here, and manage the servants, but I can’t dine with you when there’s company.” “You shall do as you please, Peters,” said Lally. “You are my friend as well as my maid--my only friend, Peters. If you don’t like to dine with company, you shall dine where you please. There, give me a kiss Peters, and I’ll go down.” Peters gave the desired kiss, with many additional ones, and wiped her eyes as Lally went out, and muttered: “She is just the bonniest, sweetest young lady that ever lived. If that young gentleman comes up here to see her, he’ll go away with a flea in his ear--see if he don’t.” Lally went down to her guests and talked with them until the dinner bell rung. Mr. Lang offered her his arm with quite the air of a man of fashion, giving his wife his other arm, and the three went in to dinner. The dining-room was long and low, with two great wood fires on capacious hearths, and a seven-windowed oriel overhanging the sea. It was bright with ruddy colors and fine china and gleaming silver, and the dinner upon the oval table was in keeping with the room. It was a feast fit for a princess, and had been ordered by Mrs. Lang, with a view to presenting to the heiress of Heather Hills as many varieties of birds and game and fish off her estate as could be obtained. After dinner, Lally had a long business conversation with Mr. Lang, and repeated the promise she had already given the steward’s wife. She appointed another interview with the steward for the following day, and about dusk the visitors took their leave. Lally spent the evening playing upon her piano, in singing, and in thought. The next morning she walked over to the steward’s cottage, and made a brief visit. The day was dark and gloomy, but it did not rain. In the afternoon the steward came up to the great house to see Lally, and he remained until nearly dinner. At five o’clock, Lally and Mrs. Peters dined together in the dining-room overlooking the sea, a dozen candles lighted and sending their bright gleams out over the troubled waters. “You look better to-night, Miss Lally,” said her faithful attendant. “You will find new interests up in this region, and will find that you have something to live for yet.” Lally smiled sadly but did not answer.